


Reluctant Duty

by Musketball1



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, d'Artagnan Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26391940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musketball1/pseuds/Musketball1
Summary: D'Artagnan could never have guessed that serving his country would involve this.Set in season one between the episodes ‘The Exiles’ and ‘A Rebellious Woman’.
Relationships: d'Artagnan/Constance Bonacieux
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

The Palace was abuzz with the news. Marquise Marie Burel, widow of Marquis Francois Burel, was coming for a visit.

The buzz was a good one- the Marquise was a colorful, bold, amusing woman whose blunt honesty and good, occasionally bawdy humor had placed her in good stead at the Palace, although many would not wish to admit it out loud. Adding to her popularity was the fact that Francois was an insufferable boor who few could stand- most felt sorry for poor Marie while she had to endure the Marquis’ constant neglect of his wonderful wife, not to mention the myriad of affairs he made little secret of. His demise was secretly mourned by very few, if any.

So the Marquise’s visit was being looked forward to by most; at the very least, while she visited, things would definitely not be boring.

D’Artagnan was taking the stairs down the Bonacieux residence two at a time, sounding nothing less than a manic bull pounding across the ground while huge cannons were going off on a battlefield during a severe thunderstorm.

“Oh, for- have a care!” Constance scolded him, as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll be late,” he offered as way of an explanation.

“And I made breakfast for you and everything. Look at the fuss I made- are you sure you can’t spare five minutes before you go off and train with your fellow miscreants?”

D’Artagnan paused, looked at the spread, and smiled.

If we were being honest, he now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was in love with this woman. With her husband having already departed for work, and the smell of breakfast as enticing as it was, surely he could wait and do what he had to admit had become one of the best aspects of his life as a Musketeer recruit- spending time with Constance Bonacieux.

And, truth be told, he really wouldn’t be late; it simply was that he actually liked arriving early to the Garrison. But maybe- for her- he could arrive a little later today. 

“Well, I suppose it would be rude to turn down an offer, since you went to such trouble.” 

He made to sit at the table, digging in to the food immediately.

Constance smiled and sat down as well. Ever since the Gascon had moved into their home, she had been infatuated; just gazing at him made her happy, not only because he was handsome, but something about his manner struck her as being bold, fearless. However those characteristics were driven by honor and good, rather than the petty motivations of so many young men as attractive as he. What started as a superficial fixation had grown into something much more.

“You charge down the stairs like a wild boar, and now you are shoving the food in your mouth as if you haven’t eaten in months. Take human bites!”

D’Artagnan grinned, almost choking on the food in his mouth as he swallowed down a laugh. “My apologies. It’s so good. Thank you.”

_I can’t stay mad at him when he flashes me that smile,_ Constance thought.

Her method of deflection-deflecting her feelings, that is- was to admonish him in some way, which, to be honest, was often easy enough to do, as his behavior, although always benign in its origin, could drive her crazy on a good day.

At the Garrison, all four men- Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and D’Artagnan- were summoned to Treville’s office.

“Marquise Marie Burel’s visit to the Palace is to be celebrated with a ball tomorrow evening, which the four of you will be asked to provide security. D’Artagnan, you will be there to witness firsthand what is entailed to do so, under the tutelage of Porthos, Aramis, and Athos. I will be present as well, as a guest.”

As Treville dismissed the men, he asked Athos to hold back.

“Athos. This is a bit delicate, but I have ever seen D’Artagnan in clothing that I would describe as being conducive to being worn to a Royal Ball. Since he is not yet a Musketeer, and of course cannot wear the uniform, please see to the Garrison supplies for something suitable for him to be seen in. And by all means approach the subject with the boy with sensitivity- it’s not his fault that he doesn’t own the proper garb for such an occasion.”

Athos replied, impressed with his Captain’s insight. “Of course, Captain.”

“Who is Marquise Marie Burel?” D’Artagnan asked his brothers, after they were dismissed by Treville.

“An incredibly engaging, humorous, daring older woman who shares my deeply held beliefs with respect to all things regarding sex,” Aramis replied with a fond smile.

“Meanin’ when she’s not talkin’ about it, she’s ‘avin’ it,” Porthos added. She’s a widow, off the chain, so to speak!” 

“Her behavior is ribald at best,” Athos offered, as he had just re-joined his brothers.

“She is not ribald- she is colorful, and of course you would react to her honest views of sex as vulgar, _Comte_ ,” Aramis teased.

“She sounds like someone who would be- interesting to meet,” D’Artagnan confessed.

“You would do well to keep away from her, D’Artagnan; on a recent visit I overheard her go on about her affinity for ‘pretty young men’,” Athos warned.

“Well, it is good then that I am not pretty,” D’Artagnan replied.

His older brothers all looked at each other, and simply smiled.

“Well, you’re still in trouble, my young brother, as she also has a soft spot for naïve, wet behind the ears, clueless, silly, impulsive, and infuriatingly annoying young men as well,” Aramis said.

D’Artagnan smiled. “Well, then it is good that I am none of those things as well!” he announced.

Returning to the Bonacieux residence that evening, D’Artagnan shared the news about him attending the upcoming ball in honor of the visiting Marquise the following evening. 

“Sounds rather glamorous!” said Constance.

“It will be a spurious affair, at best,” Jacques commented. As his services were not called upon for the ball, he felt petty and not in a mood to be generous towards the party. For surely his reputation should have made the Palace call upon him for materials for costumes, at the very least.

D’Artagnan, confused over the comment, just replied, “Oh, I am sure it will be an extremely illustrious occasion.”

“Compared to what? A backwards country barn dance, full of lowborn, inbred Gascons? What could you ever know of it?” 

“Jacques! That was uncalled for!”

D’Artagnan shot back, “I am- pardon, but I wish to not be spoken to in this manner!”

“Oh, really? Let me tell you something, _lowly farmboy-_ You will be granted the privilege of an opinion only _after_ you come current with your rent! Otherwise, for you to remain under my roof, you can simply shut up!”

D’Artagnan, seeing red, lunged at Jacques. Constance, attempting to stop him, was inadvertently shoved aside, almost falling down from the boy’s lurch.

_“_ _Constance_ _!_ I am- are you aright?!” D’Artagnan asked.

“GET OUT, now! I will not have violence in our home!” She spat.

“Do as she says, _boy_ , and in the meantime I’ll decide if you even have a home to come back to!” Jacques said as D’Artagnan slinked out.

D’Artagnan, shaken, silently made his way back to the Garrison, where he stealthily spent the night in the stables. 

The next morning, Athos called out to D’Artagnan shortly after he saw the boy emerging from the stables, completely unaware that the boy had spent the entire night there.

It instantly reminded him of the command that Treville had given him yesterday that he had unfortunately proved unsuccessful- he did not find any Garrison clothes for the boy.

“D’Artagnan. As you can imagine, for tonight’s affair, everyone not in a uniform will be dressed quite handsomely. Please take no offense, but unless you had other plans, we need to find you other clothing for you to wear tonight.”

D’Artagnan actually looked relieved. “I’m glad- I really don’t own anything that I believe would be suitable…”

“And that is nothing to be ashamed of. Now, I thought the Garrison would have something for you, but they do not. But I had an idea.

“Do you think that Madame Bonacieux could lend you something for the evening? My guess is that between her husband’s inventory of materials, and Constance’s expertise, she may be able to set you up for the evening. What do you think?”

D’Artagnan’s face soured at the suggestion; after last night, he wasn’t even sure that he would be allowed back as a lodger, mush less as someone capable of asking a favor of either Bonacieux.

But as Athos had already gone through the trouble of searching for existing clothing at the Garrison, he could not dismiss the idea out of hand.

“I will ask Constance for assistance.”

“Do it now. If that yields nothing, we need to figure out what you can wear. As we are not exactly the same build, I fear my own clothing would swim on you like so much flotsam.”

Smiling at Athos with a gaiety he didn’t really feel, D’Artagnan then meekly left for the Bonacieux house. Thankfully, Jacques would not be home, having left for work.

Based on how things ended last night, D’Artagnan did not presume that he should simply let himself in. He knocked on the front door, and waited.

He held his breath as Constance opened the front door.

“Lose your key?” she asked, no rancor in her voice.

“I- didn’t wish to presume that I would be allowed back after last night. Constance, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to push you! I-“

“Oh, shush. I stuck my head in a dog fight- I have three brothers who always quarreled and I should have known better than to get into the middle of the two of you idiots. It wasn’t your fault. Jacques was unforgivably rude to you last night. I spoke to him and you are still welcome here.”

D’Artagnan looked relieved; he was also incredibly grateful.

“Thank you. Constance, I am unsure why my farm stipend is so late in arriving. As far as my rent is concerned, I hope to-“

“Let’s not worry about it right now. Was there anything else?”

D’Artagnan suddenly felt like a heel. Of course an apology was not the only reason he was there. When he explained what it is he hoped she could help him out with, she took pity on his utterly mortified expression.

“No worries,” she smiled at him. “Let’s see how we can get you all set up.”

As it turned out, she had a few outfits that she felt could fit him well enough. When she showed him which he would like to try on, laying the various outfits out on his bed, he looked so bemused, so out of his element, that she found it adorable.

“Try this one on. Let me know once you are in it. I will see if it requires any taking in.” Then she closed his door to let him undress.

Once he was all dressed on the first outfit, D’Artagnan cleared his throat and said, “Constance?”

Constance entered his room and gazed at him. He looked at her with such an endearing look of expectation that she could not help but to smile widely.

“You look wonderful in it! And- let me see…”

She began to touch the front of his shirt, pressing into him, feeling if it fit well enough. When she touched him, under the innocent pretext of measuring the clothing’s fit, both of them felt…good. It reminded her of when he was teaching her to shoot. D’Artagnan almost stopped breathing. He found himself hoping this moment lasting forever. To be this close to her, breathing her in…

She managed a look up at his face. It had the same shy smile he wore when she smashed the bottle with her pistol, training with him. 

They had yet to say anything to one another. She cleared her throat and found her voice.

“This seems- fine. Do you wish to try the others?”

D’Artagnan glanced at his bed, where Constance had draped the other outfits. They all seemed a bit…ornate for his tastes.

“If you believe this to be suitable, then I accept it with my sincere thanks. I’ll have it back to you later tonight, none the worse for wear. That is my promise to you.”

She shot back, “I will hold you to that, monsieur.”

The ball was a massive affair; the Palace was teeming with food, drink, musicians, dancing, and gaiety. The Musketeers kept a vigilant lookout for the Royals at all times, showing D’Artagnan the ropes as they did so. They also pointed out Marquise Marie Burel to the boy. She was handsome enough, perhaps in her mid-to late fifties, a little plump, her hair in a neat chignon, elegantly dressed, of course, with bright blue eyes.

Near the end of the affair, the Musketeers became less conspicuous, ensuring that each Royal depart the Palace unmolested, not only from any potential threats outside the Palace, but to be certain that no one who may have overindulged in drink caused any worry.

As the King, Queen, and Cardinal were bidding adieu to everyone, suddenly the Marquise caught a glimpse of the line of Musketeers looming directly behind them.

Marquise Marie Burel wandered behind the King and Queen, marched right up to D’Artagnan, caressed his cheek and said, “And I will have _this_ young beauty in my bedchamber tonight.”

D’Artagnan smiled tentatively, then shot Athos a look. _Was she kidding?_

No one spoke for a long moment; finally the King said, “But of course. Treville, make it so.”

D’Artagnan quickly swept his gaze to his Captain, who was sporting a resigned look on his face. The Captain replied, “Yes, your Majesty,” avoiding looking directly at D’Artagnan. Instead he caught Athos’ gaze with an expression that seemed to say, _you heard the King. Make sure your man understands._

“Musketeers, you are dismissed,” Louis instructed.

When D’Artagnan began to instinctively leave with his older brothers, Treville called out, “D’Artagnan. You are to stay here and- accompany the Marquise. We will see you tomorrow.”

D’Artagnan, still at a loss, managed to reply, “Yes, Captain.”

After the Marquise spoke to the King for a moment, Louis told Treville, “We will have one of our servants escort D’Artagnan to the Marquise’s room in a half hour. Thank you, Captain.” With that, the King and Queen left, but not before the Queen threw her Musketeers a bewildered look, one that Aramis was certain contained a certain amount of empathy.

Treville walked to his Musketeers and imparted the King’s instructions to D’Artagnan. He then took his leave. That left D’Artagnan with his older brothers.

Once alone, D’Artagnan looked at Athos and asked, “Am I really to do this? Do I _have_ to do this?”

Athos said nothing. He, D’Artagnan did not fail to notice, was also avoiding his gaze. His long pause gave D’Artagnan all the answer he needed.

“Alright- I can do it. I just figured I would ask.”

“D’Artagnan. We never told you of this, but very occasionally, a Musketeer’s- duty may extend to escorting certain female Royals to tea, a meal, and other things. I admit that it rarely comes with an invitation so- flagrant as this, but…” Aramis said.

“‘e shouldn’t have ta do this,” Porthos said.

“It was so ordered by the King himself,” Athos finally said.

D’Artagnan wasn’t sure why, but he was waiting for Athos to chime in to confirm he truly needed to follow this order. 

“So you will not look down on me if I- follow this order?” D’Artagnan asked them all.

“Of course not. Think of it this way. There are times when following a King’s order may involve risking life and limb. So we should consider ourselves fortunate when such an order merely involves enjoying the pleasures of a fine woman. Even if that woman has a few years on her,” Aramis said, trying to keep it light.

“I don’t understand- I did nothing to encourage this,” D’Artagnan said, as if trying to absolve himself from any wrongdoing.

“We know that, pup, we do,” Porthos offered, putting his hand on his shoulder. 

D’Artagnan found himself needing to hear the same from Athos.

Instead, Athos simply said, “We’ll see you in the morning,” again managing to not look at the boy. With that, his brothers left him standing there. Only Aramis and Porthos offered supporting smiles as they took their leave.

D’Artagnan was left there all alone, still in disbelief. He felt cheap, bereft and alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallout from D'Artagnan's evening spent with the Marquise.

The next morning at the Garrison, the Inséparables were all huddled around the Garrison table, along with several other Musketeers, who by now had heard of D’Artagnan’s run-in with the Marquise, and what he was ordered to do. No sign yet of D’Artagnan, which, given the ‘mission’ he was assigned, was not really a surprise.

“How do ya think our pup fared last night?” Porthos asked.

“Isn’t that a better question for the Marquise Marie?” Aramis replied.

“Don’t be crude,” Athos snapped. Another Musketeer laughed.

Athos couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt out of sorts since he left- abandoned, it seemed- the boy yesterday at the Palace. He felt that D’Artagnan’s looks might one day get him into trouble, but he couldn’t have foreseen this.

“He’s a healthy, single young man,” Aramis said. “He’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure Marquise Marie won’t have any complaints,” Musketeer Francis said.

“Didn’t look as if ‘e wanted to do it,” Porthos offered.

“We don’t always wish to follow an order from the King,” Athos said, trying to rationalize the act in his mind. “Yet we must.”

“I suspect his hesitancy might have to do with the boy’s current female landlord,” Aramis said. “They seem to be getting closer.”

“You say he feels he would be cheating on a married woman?” Athos asked.

“In matter of the heart, _mon ami,_ one reacts with emotion, not as a result of a fact. D’Artagnan feels something for Madame Bonacieux.”

“Speakin’ of whom,” Porthos said.

Constance was suddenly there. All three men rose and tipped their hats.

“Madame, may we assist you?”

“I was just wondering where D’Artagnan was- he never returned from the Ball last night. Knowing him, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t get himself into trouble, or accidentally burn the entire Palace down.”

After an awkward pause, Athos replied, “He was unforeseeably detained by the King, who needed him to- run an errand,” Athos said.

Francis began to snicker. “Oh, yes- an _errand…”_

Constance looked confused, and Francis missed the glares the Inséparables threw him.

“What does _that_ mean?” Constance asked. "What could the King possibly have wanted D‘Artagnan for?”

Between giggles, Francis said, “It seems Marquise Marie Burel was quite taken with D’Artagnan, and ordered him to her bed chamber last night! Oh, the sight of the pup when he realized what she meant! Priceless!”

Constance noticed how Porthos, Aramis, and Athos were all expertly avoiding her gaze.

“She did _what?”_

Aramis quickly replied, “Madame, it is sometimes customary for Musketeers to- act as an- escort for visiting female dignitaries who lack a suitor, or husband. Often times the pairing extends to simply accompanying them to a dinner, event, ball, and so on. That is what D’Artagnan was tasked to do with the Marquise.”

“But-“ Constance pointed to the Musketeer who she did not know.

“Francis,” Athos offered.

“ _Francis_ here said something about an invitation to her- bed chamber!”

Athos said, “The Marquise Marie has a history of being somewhat crude sometimes in her vernacular…”

“But it’s true then. He spent the night with her. Otherwise where is he?”

Silence was followed by Aramis saying “Believe me, Madame, D’Artagnan did not wish to stay with the Marquise. He did his duty, but under protest-“

“What do I care? He can do- he means nothing to me,” Constance interrupted, walking off suddenly.

Earlier that morning, D’Artagnan was getting dressed back in the outfit that Constance had allowed him to borrow the previous day. The Marquise Marie was still asleep.

The boy did not know the protocol- did he need to wait until she awoke to take his leave? All he wanted to do was get out of there.

After his brothers departed the Palace last night, he was escorted to the Palace salon, where he was instructed to partake in a bath prior to seeing the Marquise. After he was finished, a new set of clothing was laid out for him to wear.

All that was provided was a long nightshirt, and a new set of undergarments was set alongside the newly provided nightshirt. His former outfit was set aside at the far corner of the parlor. The implication seemed clear- he was to put on the nightshirt and new undergarments.

A servant, on notice to summon D’Artagnan once he had finished his bath and dressed, came into the parlor and escorted him to the Marquise Marie.

After the servant left him at the door of Marquise Marie’s guest bedchamber, the servant slinked away, and D’Artagnan knocked.

After a brief pause, Marquise Marie opened the door. She was sporting a long nightgown. 

She flashed a bright smile. “Aren’t you a sight? Please. _Do_ come in.”

Constance returned to her home, flustered. She knew she had no right to be. But tell that to her heart.

She pushed down the logic in her mind that told her that the boy owed her nothing. She tried her best to ignore the sensible piece in her brain that yelled at her that duty, whatever the form it manifests itself as, would always come first to a man as good and loyal as D’Artagnan.

However those thoughts lost out to her heart, which shouted down such reflections, in order to feed the feeling that he disregarded her, that she meant _nothing_ to him, if he actually did something as insidious as this. After all they have shared- their long, knowing glances at one another, signaling a growing fondness, his kindness and respect, plus all she had done for _him_ , giving him a roof over his head, overlooking his late rent payments, providing him with _clothing_ , for heaven’s sake…all thrown in her face by his thoughtlessness…

…if he had done this, then she was delusional in thinking that something was starting between the two of them.

She knew it was unfair and irrational, but she decided she hated him.

“You’re leaving?”, Marquise Marie asked, as she awoke.

“I would never presume to, your Marquise; I simply dressed.”

Marie smiled. “That is alright, dear. You need not answer to me anymore. I don’t _own_ you, but oh if only that could be made so,” she smiled.

“Of course you can take your leave, my dear boy. Come here.”

D’Artagnan approached her, still sprawled on the bed. She gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

“I will hope the one that owns your heart can be yours one day. You really are sweet,” she said.

“And I must thank you for being so- understanding. Good day, your Marquise.” 

D’Artagnan was so distracted that he did not know if he should go home first or to the Garrison? The Garrison, of course. 

When he arrived, there were thankfully few Musketeers loitering around, no doubt because they were already assigned to duties or missions; some were there training, seemingly paying him no mind, for which he was grateful. He had no idea how far word of his ‘mission’ had spread.

“Oh, here is our famous Palace lover boy!”, one Musketeer, whose name he did not even know, proclaimed loudly.

Everyone practicing, plus the few who were around the Garrison grounds, all looked over at him, and began laughing and applauding.

As it seemed good-natured enough, he simply waved and smiled shyly.

He then saw Porthos, and proceeded to walk over to his older brother.

Porthos was not smiling. “How ya doin’, pup?”

D’artagnan smiled. “I’m well. I enjoyed myself,” he found himself admitting.

Now Porthos shot him one of his broad smiles. “Oh, ya _enjoyed_ yourself then, didja?”

“ _No_ , it’s not _like_ that, Porthos! I mean- we- we simply talked all night. I don’t know what happened- I must have looked terrified, or incredibly uncomfortable at first, which I was- and she noticed that, I suspect. We had wine- a _lot_ of wine- which I partook of, partially thinking I might need it to get the nerve to, you know, later, with her.” Porthos grinned.

“We ended up talking about everything- she is an incredibly interesting woman! And she also asked a lot about me…she seemed genuinely interested. I invariably mentioned Constance, and she instantly picked up on my- fondness for her. I think she took pity on me and realized what a bind I was in, so nothing really happened. However she did insist we sleep together. _Fall asleep_ together, that is!”

“Glad to hear it, kid. None of us were crazy about leaving you in that situation, by the way. But- _nothing_ happened?” Porthos was smiling again.

D’Artagnan’s pause, combined with a knowing grin, was all Porthos needed to emit a loud ‘”Oho! Details, _now!”_

“Porthos!” D’Artagnan laughed. “Well, to be honest, she kissed me- I mean to say, we kissed-“ Porthos was delighting in seeing his younger brother squirm- “kissed not like a nephew kisses an aunt, for example, but more like- well, you know. And she touched my-“ D’Artagnan started to cough.

Porthos howled!

“My _bottom_! My _bottom,_ silly!” D’Artagnan was now laughing as mercilessly hard as Porthos now.

Aramis and Athos had walked over, catching the end of the conversation. Athos was uncertain if he really wanted to know how D’Artagnan’s bottom factored into last night’s proceedings. But seeing D’Artagnan acting as if whatever occurred did no permanent psychological damage was reassuring.

Porthos and D’Artagnan hardly noticed the arrival of their two brothers, what with their relentless cackling. The two of them could hardly catch a breath, so rigorous was their laughter.

_“What_ is so funny? And do the two of you need a moment?” Aramis asked.

Porthos was keeling over. He pointed to his younger brother. “D’Art- h-his bottom…” Porthos barely managed, tears in his eyes.

_“Porthos!”_ D’Artagnan yelled at his incorrigible older brother, while still in hysterics himself, giggling uncontrollably. 

“So you survived last night’s mission then,” Athos said.

After a moment, D’Artagnan collected himself, and nodded. “I was just telling Porthos- nothing really happened. She was actually very sweet and we just- talked.”

“About your glorious bottom,” Aramis could not help resist saying.

Which set Porthos and D’Artagnan off again.

That evening, D’artagnan arrived home. 

He was happy and smiling, which to Constance, made it worse. He did what he did, and clearly without remorse. Looking as if he didn’t do anything wrong. Looking as if he were _proud_ of it, even. The very idea! 

It just made her angrier. 

“Your husband?”

“Out procuring some materials for a job,” Constance coldly replied, deliberately averting her gaze from the Gascon.

“I- realize that I owe you an explanation for why I never returned from the Ball last night. I-“

“I don’t care. You don’t need to explain your every move to me. I’m simply your landlord. Nothing more,” Constance snapped back.

D’artagnan was taken aback a bit by her tone. “I- I had a mission to perform, is all, and-“

Constance got right up in his face. “Oh, a _mission_ , is that what it was? I thought we agreed- no more keeping things from me, no more protecting me, no more _lying_ to me!”

“Constance, I don’t under-“

“I _know_ what you did last night! I know- who you were with! Your- friends told me his morning.”

D’Artagnan paused, allowing that to sink in. He hesitated long enough for Constance to launch into another tirade.

“So I see that your words still mean nothing!! That you still hide things from me! That you _still_ don’t respect me- that lying to me still comes as easy to you as- sleeping with other women!”

D’Artagnan blanched at the words. “Constance, I’m sorry I was evasive about what the ‘mission’ was, but I-“

“Oh, now you’ll reveal all, is that it? Now that you’ve been caught in a lie, you will confess?”

D’Artagnan, realizing that Constance thought that he had gone through with it, was temporarily amused, and he allowed himself a small grin. “Constance, if you will let me explain-“

“Oh, you think this is _funny?_ You know, D’Artagnan, when we first met, in order to help Athos, you talked me into dressing like a common whore.

“Last night, you actually _were_ one.”

The reaction was immediate. D’Artagnan looked as if he had been slapped.

He was too busy exiting the Bonacieux residence to register the regret in Constance’s face.

D’Artagnan was a mess. Why did he not tell Constance that he did not sleep with Marquise Burel?

He knew why- it was because he didn’t sleep with her only because she was kind and understanding. Had she insisted, he would have done it. So wasn’t it simply a matter of semantics?

He would have done his duty- he would have followed his King’s orders. But had he done so, he would not be able to refute Constance’s claim- he would have been a whore.

It would have ended up comical if it were not so pathetic- but for the third night in a row, D’artagnan would not be sleeping in his room at the Bonacieux’s. He simply could not face Madame Bonacieux- a woman he had grown to love- with her look of judgment.

Oh! Life had become so much more complicated since moving to Paris.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, D’Artagnan wasn’t as lucky as he had been two nights previous- a stable boy noticed him still sleeping there, and reported it to Treville.

It would have remained a secret had Athos not overheard the stable boy reporting it to his Captain. What was going on?

“D’Artagnan.” Athos called to his younger brother. “It’s none of my business, but I discovered that you slept in the stables here last night. May I ask why?” 

“You’re right- it is none of your business,” D’Artagnan snapped, walking away.

“Excuse me?” Athos said to his back.

D’Artagnan stopped in his tracks. He turned around to face his mentor. Athos was struck by how heartbroken he looked.

“I’m sorry, Athos- you didn’t deserve…my apologies…”

“It is fine, D’Artagnan. I did not mean to pry. However just know that I am here if you wish to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” Aramis asked, walking up with Porthos.

“Which one of you told Constance that I slept with the Marquise?” D’Artagnan asked, some of his anger returning.

His three brothers suddenly looked contrite. Aramis replied, “D’Artagnan, when she arrived here before your return, I’m afraid that, while we attempted to avoid the specifics of your task, some of the other Musketeers inadvertently let it slip that, well, you were directly invited to the Marquise’s bedchamber. I’m so sorry- absent your admission that nothing had occurred, we really could not refute their words. And lying to Madame Bonacieux was-“

D’Artagnan waved his brother to stop. “No, I do understand. She just- last night, we- she called me a…” D’Artagnan found it difficult to continue.

“Called you a _what?”_ Porthos asked. The glares he instantly received from both Aramis and Athos made him realized _exactly_ what Constance must have called him.

“Well, that’s unfair! You did not do anything! And if you did, you weren’t given a choice,” Porthos said.

“And that is why you slept in the stables last night?” Athos asked, prompting looks of surprise from his two other brothers.

“I- I could not bear to have her look at me, with her thinking that of me. Because I could have easily done it, and then what would I have been?”

“A Musketeer recruit following orders, is what you would have been. D’Artagnan, there are times, and they are infrequent, when the morality involving a royal order may seem questionable, but we follow them regardless. And no one has the right to judge the soldier that follows such orders. Do you understand?” Athos said.

“I- I suppose,” D’Artagnan replied, not sounding completely convinced. As reassuring as he may have found Athos’ words, it mattered not if the woman who he had fallen in love with held him in such low opinion.

“I’m surprised at Constance. It’s not like her to be so cruel,” Porthos said to his two brothers later, while D’Artagnan trained with some other recruits.

“She feels hurt,” Aramis responded. “Her feelings for the boy- from her standpoint, it is a betrayal.”

“But he didn’t _do_ anythin’!” Porthos exclaimed.

“She thinks he did.”

“Well, we need to set her straight.”

Athos said, “The boy would not appreciate our interference.”

“Well, that’s just too bad,” Porthos shot back.

“He cannot continue to sleep in the stables, Athos,” Aramis said.

“He can stay in my rooms.”

“Or, we can clear the air with Constance; at least fill her in on what did not occur.”

Athos was now irritated. “We are not relationship counselors, we are Musketeers. D’Artagnan did his duty. If the opinions of a seamstresses’ wife has him completely unable to function, then he needs to grow up a bit.”

“That is a bit harsh, is it not? Surely we can help him out by-” Aramis asked.

“What do you expect to do, go to Treville and say, ‘excuse me, Captain, but D’Artagnan’s feelings are hurt, and we were wondering if it would be alright with you to go to his home and sort things out with his landlord’s wife in the middle of the day, official Musketeer business be damned?’” 

“Well, if you put it _that_ way,” Aramis replied.

“Looks as if it’s academic anyway,” Porthos said, pointing to Constance, who had just entered the Garrison gates. “For someone who doesn’t mean anything to her, she sure does visit the boy a lot, don’t she?” Porthos commented with a smile.

D’Artagnan, still training with his recruit, saw her from the corner of his eye. She distracted him for a moment, then realigned his focus to the sword coming towards him.

“Madame,” Athos greeted her. “May we help you?”

Constance seemed tentative. “D’Artagnan didn’t sleep at home again last night and- I mean- that is to say…”

“’E didn’t do it, ya know. ‘E didn’t sleep with ‘er.” Porthos just blurted it out.

“What?” Constance asked.

“’E didn’t sleep with ‘er, because the Marquise sensed that he’s in love with someone else,” Porthos continued, glaring at her in such a way that removed all doubt as to who the ‘someone else’ was.

“Why, that’s-“ Constance was taken aback. D’Artagnan didn’t say that to her.

But did she give him a chance? Before calling him a…

She left the Garrison without another word. As she was departing, she stole a glance at him with another Musketeer recruit. He had a look of concern on his face that broke her heart.

She kept going.

Returning to the Bonacieux home that night, Jacques’ first words to D’Artagnan were: “Do you have your rent?”

“I’m afraid I do not, monsieur,” D’Artagnan said meekly.

Jacques just shook his head. Clearly Constance winning the argument to keep him on as a tenant for a little longer came with some bitterness, and Jacques was determined to take it out on the young man.

“You mean you didn’t even earn any coin for sleeping with the Marquise? It’s all over town how she selected you for her harlot of the evening.”

“Jacques!” Constance yelled.

D’Artagnan replied, eyes wide: “We- we didn’t-“

“D’Artagnan, you don’t owe us any explanation of what happened,” Constance blurted out. To D’Artagnan’s credit, he did not call Constance out on her hypocrisy- the previous night, she was all over him for not being forthright about what had occurred between him and the Marquise.

She wished she could convey the genuine shame and guilt she felt for telling him off the previous night.

D’Artagnan simply excused himself and left for his room.

A bit later, Constance knocked on D’Artagnan’s door. Her husband had just retired.

D’Artagnan answered the door. “May I come in for a moment?” Constance asked.

“Yes,” D’artagnan replied.

Constance opened the door slowly, then stepped in. She was smiling shyly at him, but it became apparent that she was also upset.

“What’s wrong?” D’Artagnan asked immediately.

Constance said in a low voice, not wishing for her voice to carry to her husband: “When I went to the Garrison earlier, it was because you hadn’t returned last night after- our conversation. Porthos told me that nothing occurred between the Marquise and you.

“D’Artagnan, I’m so sorry for what I said- I was upset that you- I don’t know why, but- can you ever forgive me?”

D’Artagnan smiled at her. “Of course; think nothing more of it.”

She looked relieved, and then had the courage to ask, “Why did you not go through with it then?” She had understood what Porthos was intimating to her, but suddenly wanted to know what D’Artagnan would say about the matter.

D’Artagnan suddenly hesitated. He smiled at her and said, “It turns out that the Marquise Burel took pity on me. She sensed that I…well, I have feelings for someone and…”

“That woman who visited me? Milady, is it?”

“NO! I mean, we once- I mean, we…NO! NOT Milady! I- it’s- it’s complicated…” he said, averting his gaze somewhat.

Constance, seeing no reason to continue to torture the boy, simply said “I know- it’s fine. And yes, it’s complicated for me too.” The look he gave her contained equal amounts of regret and desire.

What else could she say? She refused to have any declarations of love with her husband underfoot.

She just said, “Well, good night, then,” and made to leave.

As she was turning away, D’Artagnan grabbed her hand.

“Constance- thank you,” he whispered. He then gave her hand a gentle kiss.

She smiled, and left, blushing.

At the Garrison the next day, Athos flagged D’Artagnan down when he saw him.

“D’Artagnan. If I could have a moment.”

Athos had his complete attention.

“I believe I owe you an apology. When we departed the Palace the other evening, leaving you behind, it is my understanding that I may have left you with the impression that I was-“

Athos realized he was uncertain how to phrase what he was trying to say. He recalled the boy asking him and his brothers is they would feel less of him if he performed his assigned ‘task’ and it was bothering him a bit ever since, for some reason.

“Just know that nothing you could ever do could ever make me less than incredibly proud of you. Is that understood?”

D’Artagnan smiled. “Thank you, Athos.”

Just then, Porthos walked up, and to the boy he asked, “So I hope you got it all squared away with Constance?”

“I did, actually,” D’Artagnan replied.

“Good then. She should be reassured that your virtue is intact. Your glorious bottom, ‘owever, is up for grabs,” Porthos said.

“Wait- _who_ grabbed his bottom?” Aramis asked, now joining them all.

“Marquise Burel,” D’Artagnan admitted, smiling. Now that the entire affair was over, he was relieved enough to not care if it provided some amusement to two of his three older brothers.

“I’m sorry- she grabbed your bottom?” Athos suddenly asked. “Was she falling over?”

Athos had a smirk on his face, and as it was obvious that he was now in on the teasing, that gave the rest of them license to escalate.

“Yes, and she reached for the biggest, most glorious thing she could grab a hold of,” Aramis said.

“My bottom is not big!”

“Constance and the Marquise should compare notes,” Athos said.

“Constance hasn’t grabbed my bottom!” D’Artagnan declared.

“Not yet,” Porthos said.

“Any day now,” Aramis predicted.

D’Artagnan’s gaze was flying back and forth from brother to brother. He could not keep up with their jibes fast enough.

“You know, I once had the pleasure of grabbing D’Artagnan’s bottom.” Aramis confessed.

“And what reason did you have to do so?” Athos asked.

Aramis looked confused. “I needed a reason?” 

“Good point,” Athos said.

“’In fact, grabbin’ his bottom has become part of my daily routine,” Porthos explained.

“Really? Do explain, brother.” Athos said.

Porthos said, “Well, each day now I wake up, take care of my needs, grab D’Artagnan’s bottom, have breakfast….”

Something about the sheepish looks on his brothers’ faces gave Porthos pause.

He turned around. Treville was standing there, with an extremely concerned and confused look on his face.

“Captain,” Porthos meekly said.

After a brief pause, during which Treville seemed to be inspecting Porthos very closely, the Captain said “Perhaps if you pared down your ‘daily routines’ to just essential tasks, you would be more available for your real duties as a Musketeer.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Porthos’ brothers now all were outwardly enjoying see their brother squirm. But no one seemed to be enjoying this as much as D’Artagnan, who could not suppress an outburst of giggles as the Captain walked away.

“Well, that was…” Porthos mumbled.

“Embarrassing?” Aramis offered.

“Humiliating?” Athos added.

“Mortifying?” Aramis asked.

“Incommodious?” Athos replied.

“You two quite done?” Porthos shot back with.

“Yes, _mon ami,_ but only because I’ve run out of synonyms for ‘embarrassing’,” Aramis said.

Then, mischievous D’Artagnan, now out of hearing range of Treville, began singing “Porthos loves my bottom! Porthos loves my bottom!”

Porthos then gave chase, making D’Artagnan take off.


End file.
